


Pharma Drama

by charivari



Series: Decepticon Teachers AU [11]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, Break Up, Drift as ex-junkie turned adorkable janitor, Drift cameo, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Humanformers, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Jealousy, M/M, Makeup Sex, Old college buddies, Overlord and Trepan being their dysfunctional selves, Pharma being Pharma, Secret Crush, Snark, Tyrest on his soapbox, Unrequited Crush, devious Pharma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 18:58:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4191255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charivari/pseuds/charivari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to The Perils of Vodka.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Pharma picked up the letter on Ratchet's desk,

"I see you've been invited to the gala."

It was the annual Iacon fundraiser for such-and-such disease (it changed every year). The who's who of society all attended along with the most respectable medical professionals. Pharma still hadn't received an invitation.

Ratchet looked up from the medical file he was studying,

"Envy doesn't look good on you," he smiled at Pharma's scowl, "I was going to ask you if you wanted to go."

Pharma set the letter back down on Ratchet's desk,

"Are you sure you don't want to take your boyfriend?" the words came out more spiteful than he intended.

Ratchet gave him an exasperated look,

"Orion is just a friend. I don't know many times I have to keep telling you."

"Well your defensive tone certainly isn't helping your case," Pharma drawled.

"Defensive?" Ratchet stopped and took a breath, "No, I'm not letting you bait me on this. We were talking about this stupid gala."

Pharma fingered the edge of Ratchet's desk,

"If it's so stupid why you want us to go?"

Ratchet's brow furrowed,

"Not us," he said with a hint of apology, "You."

Pharma's fingers halted as he realized what Ratchet meant.

"You want me to go in your place?"

"Yes," Ratchet said, still in that slightly apologetic tone, "I thought - it sounded like you wanted to go."

"I'm not a charity case," Pharma said harshly.

"I'm not saying that," Ratchet said, "You would actually be doing me a big favor. I'm not good with these types of people Pharma. All these politicians and big business types pretending to care about a disease because it makes them look good."

"What makes you think I can handle them any better?" Pharma demanded, "Is it because you think I'm a snob?"

"Well you are a snob," Ratchet said with a light laugh, "Don't make that face. You know you want to stand in a ballroom among the beautiful people and drink expensive champagne. I'm not judging you."

"Oh really?" Pharma snapped, "Because it really sounds like you are."

"Come on," Ratchet said gently, "I'm only teasing."

"I work tirelessly day in day out at this clinic for little to no recognition," Pharma reminded him, "So you have no right to call me a snob."

Ratchet sighed,

"I suppose not," he conceded, "And I probably don't say it enough but I am grateful. I know you could easily land a job at any high-paying private hospital."

"You're damn right I could," Pharma said haughtily.

"Then why don't you?" Ratchet asked.

"Because you need me here," Pharma answered, "God knows you and First Aid could barely run things without me around."

There was another reason. But Pharma wouldn't admit it to Ratchet's face.

Ratchet didn't question his answer in any case.

"So why not go to the gala and enjoy yourself?" he said, "Live it up, so to speak."

"Among the heartless elite?"

"And expensive champagne."

Pharma smiled,

"I do like champagne," he said, "You know you could come with me. I'll do all the talking."

"Oh yes," Ratchet said dryly, "You can chat away while I stand there bored and resentful and constantly checking my watch."

Pharma chuckled,

"Then you'll get drunk," he said knowingly, "End up embarrassing both of us."

Ratchet didn't deny it.

"So you see the flaw in your plan," the older man said.

"I do," Pharma purred, "But we can always go back to my place."

Ratchet gave a heavy sigh.

"Pharma we've talked about this..."

The reproach was like a nail driven into Pharma's chest.

He hated it. Hated this feeling.

Hated that Ratchet had suddenly decided he wanted to keep things professional.

"It's just sex Ratchet," he said, with forced humor, "I'm not asking you to move in or buy me flowers."

"That's exactly it Pharma," Ratchet said, "I'm too old to have a... a..."

"Fuck buddy?"

"Yes, see I'm too old to even know what the proper term is."

Pharma let some of his anger slip,

"Ratchet please stop playing the age card. If there's someone else just..."

"There isn't," Ratchet said, "But one day there might be. And for us to continue up until the point, that's not fair on you."

Pharma was silent for a moment, debating what to say next.

"What if it's what I want?" he said finally.

Ratchet's expression was solemn.

"It's not what I want."

There was that nail in Pharma's chest again. That sharp twist of rejection.

"I don't believe you," he said in his best sultry voice.

He reached out to trail a finger over Ratchet's chest. But Ratchet caught his hand before he made contact.

"I've made up my mind."

Pharma drew his hand out of Ratchet's,

"Very well."

He wasn't going to beg. Get even perhaps, but not beg.

"We're still friends," Ratchet attempted to cheer him, "Colleagues, that won't change. And you don't lack suitors. What was that fellow's name, from the high school?"

"Don't bring Tarn into this," Pharma hissed.

He hadn't spoken to Tarn since he had turned up drunk at his apartment - towing along a paramour with minor alcohol poisoning.

"Sorry," Ratchet said, "I'm only trying to..."

"Well don't," Pharma snapped, "If you don't want to fuck me, that's your loss. I don't need your pity."

Someone chose that inopportune moment to knock on the door to Ratchet's office.

"Go away," Pharma snarled.

"Come in," Ratchet overruled him.

The door opened slightly and Drift peeked in.

"I'm sorry - First Aid asked me to empty the bins."

"Go ahead Drift," Ratchet motioned him in.

The young man entered in his janitor's uniform, carrying a trash bag. He emptied the contents of Ratchet's desk bin into it quickly, avoiding Pharma's baleful gaze.

"Thank you Drift," Ratchet said.

Drift gave Ratchet a shy smile. Pharma's jealousy flared. He could recognize a lovesick look when he saw one.

"I can't believe you hired a junkie," he said scathingly after the boy had gone, "It's a disaster waiting to happen."

"Former junkie," Ratchet corrected with a frown, "And Drift is doing quite well here. Would you prefer he went back to walking the streets?"

Pharma scoffed,

"There's no such thing as a former junkie. Only a junkie in between relapses."

"You honestly believe that?" Ratchet asked, "Considering we save addicts from OD'ing on a daily basis."

Pharma shrugged,

"Every life saved is proof I can play God."

He ignored the disturbed look on Ratchet's face. He wasn't looking to impress someone who didn't want him.

"I believe I will attend the gala."

He snatched the letter off Ratchet's desk and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this AU, Ratchet, Pharma, First Aid and Ambulon all work at the free clinic in Rodion. Drift was a former junkie Ratchet stopped from OD'ing. Ratchet took him under his wing, made sure he completed rehab and gave him a job at the clinic as a janitor in order to watch over him. Unlike Pharma, he's oblivious to Drift's crush on him.


	2. Chapter 2

"Pharma!"

Amidst the sea of gala-goers, Pharma turned to a familiar face.

"Trepan," he smiled his old university friend, "It's been too long."

"Far too long," Trepan agreed, "Still slaving away at Ratchet's charity clinic?"

Pharma smiled through the jab,

"Yes."

"Oh aren't you good," Trepan pressed a condescending hand to his arm, "Truly. Not a lot of doctors would turn down a high-paying salary to work in the slums. I know I wouldn't."

"What can I say?" Pharma said, "I'm a philanthropist."

"You certainly are," Trepan cooed, "Speaking of Ratchet, where is he tonight? Left you to fend for yourself?"

Pharma took a sip of his champagne,

"He couldn't make it," he said vaguely.

"What a shame," Trepan sighed, "He's so well known. I expect a lot of people will be disappointed by his no-show."

"Point them in my direction," Pharma said, "I'll change their minds."

Trepan laughed,

"Always so confident Pharma," she said, "It's nice to see you haven't changed since college."

"Neither have you," Pharma returned the quip with a smile.

He was used to Trepan's verbal sparring matches. The key was to not get flustered. 

It seemed to be going well until Trepan's trump card appeared.

"Here," a giant of a man passed Trepan a martini, "I told the bartender if it wasn't made exactly right I would come back and jam the olive pick down his throat."

Trepan smiled as she took a sip,

"I can taste the fear," she said approvingly, "Pharma, this is my husband Overlord." 

"You're married?" 

Pharma hadn't even known she was dating anyone. In university she had fucked a lot of people. Pharma too once, in an ill-conceived experiment to confirm he wasn't bisexual. It had been... unpleasant to say the least. 

Trepan smiled as she leaned against Overlord. Her head barely reached his shoulder.

"A few months ago," she suddenly pouted, "I hope you're not put out you weren't invited."

"Oh no, of course not," Pharma said, "Congratulations."

The big man smiled with his rather sensuous lips.

"Thanks Farmer."

"Phar-mah."

"So Farmer," Overlord said with deliberate mispronunciation, "How do you and Trepan know each other?"

"We went to university together," Trepan answered before Pharma could, "Don't worry he bats for the other team."

"Trepan!" Pharma hissed.

Trepan waved her hand dismissively.

"Oh hush it's nothing to be ashamed of. I'm sure a small percentage of the people here aren't the slightest bit homophobic."

It was the remaining percent Pharma was worried about. He wasn't ashamed of his sexuality but he knew when and where to flaunt it. 

A crowd of influential conservatives was not an ideal place to scream "I'm gay!"

"Hey Trepan," Overlord claimed his wife's attention, "There's Decimus trying to sneak past us. We should go say hello."

The two shared a smirk. A smirk that from Pharma's perspective seemed quite creepy. But he was glad for the two to go off and pester someone else. They seemed to approach the Councilor like two wolves going in for the kill. Indeed as soon as he saw them Decimus looked like a deer caught in the headlights. 

"Excuse me."

Pharma turned to see a tall man staring at him.

"It's Pharma isn't it?"

"Yes," Pharma's brow furrowed, "I'm sorry have we met?"

He expected he would remember. Besides his height, the man had a rather impressive chin.

"No," the man answered, "But I know you by reputation. My name is Chief Justice Tyrest."

He held out a large hand. Pharma shook it,

"Tyrest? Oh yes I've heard of you."

He was one of the most senior judges in Iacon. Whenever a big criminal case made headlines, Tyrest's name was usually mentioned. 

"All good I hope?" Tyrest said.

"You're keeping criminals off our streets,” Pharma answered, “That can only be a good thing.”

Tyrest sighed,

"I try. Unfortunately there are cases where... Sorry, I digress. I didn't introduce myself to discuss my failures. I wanted to discuss your career."

"My career? But I'm not a lawyer."

"I'm aware. You're a very skilled surgeon from the sound of it. A skilled surgeon working in a clinic where his talents are not put to proper use."

"I know a free clinic in Rodion isn't exactly prestigious," Pharma admitted.

"It's not an issue of prestige," Tyrest said, "Rodion has one of the highest levels of crime. It stands to reason many of your patients are involved in criminal activity." 

"I can't deny that may be true in a lot of cases," Pharma said, "But that doesn't make me guilty by association."

"I'm not trying to prosecute you Pharma," Tyrest assured him, "I'm trying to help you. There's a new hospital opening soon. With your skill set, I think you could easily fill the role of head surgeon."

Head surgeon. That did have a nice ring to it. 

"I assume you mean the Nominus Memorial Hospital?" he told Tyrest, "Forgive me for sounding pessimistic but you only land that sort of job if you know the right people."

Ratchet would probably give him a good reference if he asked. He wouldn't be happy about him leaving the clinic, but he was too soft to sabotage Pharma on that account. He would do as he asked. But Pharma didn't want to ask for his help.

Or God forbid Trepan. There was no way he was asking that bitch for a good word in someone's ear. 

Unfortunately besides those two, Pharma didn't have a lot of options. During his time at that free clinic he had slipped into obscurity. He was surprised Tyrest even knew who he was. 

"You know me," Tyrest broke through Pharma's unhappy contemplation, "I would be happy to put in a good word for you. If it's a position you're interested in of course."

Pharma couldn't deny it. The new hospital, named after the city's late mayor, was going to be the most state of the art facility in Iacon. Holding the influential position of head surgeon, the world would be at Pharma's finger tips. 

But one thing Pharma had learnt it was to be distrustful of strangers bearing gifts.

"You barely know me," he told Tyrest, "Why would you..."

"Call it providence," Tyrest smiled, "As soon as I heard about you Pharma, I felt a connection. We both wish to heal the world. Together I think we can achieve great things."

Pharma had a less flowery idiom. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours.

But there was nothing wrong with that. Pharma would be getting what he wanted. And what was the worst the judge might ask for in return? A free consultation every now and then? That was hardly worth rejecting his offer.

Still Pharma had to approach this carefully. There wasn't only Tyrest or himself to consider. There was Ratchet. 

"I'll need time to think about it," he told Tyrest, "If you don't mind."

"Of course not," Tyrest said accommodatingly, "Here's my number."

He offered Pharma a card with contact information.

"Think it over, though don't take too long. If you leave it too late I won't be able to help you."

Pharma nodded. He slipped the card into his pocket.

"God be with you Pharma," Tyrest said in farewell.

Pharma wasn't what you would call religious. But he knew the art of flattery.

"And you Chief Justice."


	3. Chapter 3

"How was the gala?" Ratchet asked.

"Pretentious," Pharma said, "You would have hated it."

Ratchet lifted his coffee to his lips with a hum. 

"I saw Trepan," Pharma went on.

Ratchet grimaced. 

"Oh, how is she?" 

"Still a bitch," Pharma drawled, "But married."

Ratchet lowered his coffee in surprise,

"Really?" 

"To an ass called Overlord," Pharma scowled, "He kept calling me Farmer. It's not funny."

"No of course not," Ratchet said, though his lips continued to twitch.

Pharma glowered until the twitching ceased.

"Have you ever heard of a guy called Tyrest?" he ventured to ask.

"Sounds familiar. Politician?"

"Judge," Pharma hesitated a moment before adding, "I met him at the gala."

“Nice?”

“Opinionated. Religious,” Pharma answered, “Not bad looking though.”

“Sounds dreamy,” Ratchet said dryly, “Did you exchange numbers?”

Pharma thought about Tyrest’s business card in his wallet. 

“Not my type,” he said, "So what did you do with your night of freedom?"

Ratchet seemed to hesitate before answering.

"I took Drift to the cinema."

Pharma stared at him incredulously,

"You took the janitor to the movies?"

Ratchet shrugged,

"There was this foreign film he really wanted to see. With - what do you call them? Samurais. He asked me to go. I don't think he has many friends."

"You mean that aren't junkies," Pharma said derisively, "Don't you think it's a little improper to be spending time with him outside work?"

Ratchet frowned,

“Why would it be improper?” 

Sometimes Pharma was amazed at Ratchet’s naivety. 

“Oh I don’t know,” he said, “Because he’s half your age.”

Ratchet's gaze narrowed,

“What exactly are you implying Pharma?”

“I’m not implying anything,” Pharma replied, “All I’m saying is from an outsider’s perspective it might be perceived as odd. A respected doctor in the company of a younger man who works for us as a janitor, who happens to be a former addict. Going to the movies, as though they’re on some sort of date.” 

“It wasn’t a date,” Ratchet argued.

“I know that Ratchet,” Pharma sighed, “But that doesn’t mean other people won’t jump to conclusions. You have to consider your reputation. The reputation of the clinic. Lord knows it doesn’t help that Drift stares at you in the same way he probably stared at heroin.”

“Oh for God’s sake,” Ratchet snapped, “He does not.”

“Yes he does,” Pharma reached out and squeezed Ratchet’s arm in emphasis, “I can’t say that I blame him. You _are _a silver fox.”__

__A smile played on his lips as he continued pressing on Ratchet’s bicep._ _

__Ratchet stared at him, expression turning weary._ _

__“Pharma,” he said, softly reproachful._ _

__That familiar twist of rejection. But Pharma refused to let go just yet._ _

__“If I were you,” he went on, “I’d let him down gently before his little crush gets you into trouble.”_ _

__He could see by the tiny prick of conflict in Ratchet’s eyes that the seed of doubt was well and truly sown._ _

__“Thanks for the advice,” he mumbled distractedly._ _

__Pharma tried not to grin as he released Ratchet’s arm. He nodded solemnly, inwardly gleeful._ _

__Sorry Drift, guess you’re not getting those grubby twink fingers anywhere near Ratchet._ _

__Now Pharma was free to focus on other things._ _

__"Listen,” he told Ratchet, “I'm going to take tomorrow off. Tuesday's are always slow so it shouldn't be a problem."_ _

__Ratchet’s mouth parted slightly and Pharma sensed ‘why?’ was on the tip of his tongue. But then he forced a smile,_ _

__"First Aid and I can manage."_ _

__The words hit Pharma harder than he expected._ _

__No plea for him to change his mind. Just the optimism that his colleagues could cope without him. The feeling that he wasn’t needed at the clinic any more than he was in Ratchet’s bed. The feeling of being dismissed, undesired._ _

__Pharma hid his wounded ego behind a smile._ _

__"I'm sure you can,” he told Ratchet curtly, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have patients.”_ _


	4. Chapter 4

Pharma sent a text to Tarn around midday.

_Tarn, come over._

It was his first contact since the night he had ordered Tarn's family to collect him from his apartment. The night Pharma had been forced to look after an inebriated stranger who Tarn had confessed to kissing.

Pharma had thought, especially after Tarn's drunken attempt at repentance, more would follow. But there had been no effort at communication from Tarn's end, no appeal for forgiveness.

Pharma could have stretched out his own silent treatment. But with Tyrest's offer on his plate, he didn't have time to mess around.

There was no reply from Tarn. Pharma started to get edgy. Was he deliberating ignoring him?

No, he told himself, it was a school day. Tarn probably had class and couldn't check his cell phone.

But the end of school hours came and went and still no answer.

Pharma managed to refrain from sending another text. He was not about to seem desperate.

Tarn would come. Tarn was besotted with him.

Pharma busied himself with showering, primping. He began playing his favorite selections of opera through his speakers.

After a final check he settled down with a glass of wine. It loosened his nerves considerably.

If Tarn didn't show, he could go fuck himself. Pharma would simply get plastered.

Maybe he would call Tyrest.

No, bad idea, Tyrest probably abstained from alcohol. He probably wouldn't approve of Pharma drinking.

He probably wouldn't approve of him being homosexual either.

Unless he was a closet case himself. He had been dressed rather flamboyantly at the gala.

Nevertheless Pharma would need to be very careful around him. Until he was certain.

If he even took the job.

It was seeming more and more likely. It wasn't as though Ratchet had called to plead for him to come into the clinic.

Or plead for him to stay the night.

Even Tarn hadn't shown up begging for Pharma's favor.

It seemed Tyrest was the only one who wanted him.

So why not accept his offer?

Why not rise from the slums of the clinic and prove his genius to the world?

It was better than sitting here alone, unwanted, unappreciated.

Pharma's apartment buzzed and he nearly knocked over his wine.

Ha, Tarn. It had to be. Pharma knew he couldn't resist. He checked himself in the mirror before answering the door.

Sure enough it was Tarn. Big, leather jacket-clad and metal-faced. He stood there with no hint of a smile, expression surprisingly cold. Ominous even.

That didn't stop Pharma from rolling his eyes.

"Why didn't you text back?" he chided, "God you're hopeless."

"You're lucky I came at all," Tarn growled, "What is this about Pharma?"

Pharma hadn't been expecting this kind of reception. Tarn had left his house in the wrong - unconscious and being supported between his two brothers - but definitely in the wrong. Why wasn't he here with his tail between his legs.

"Playing aloof are we?" Pharma drawled.

Tarn clenched his massive fists,

"I can't change what happened with Soundwave. But if you expect me to get down on my knees and beg for..."

Pharma silenced him with a finger on his broad chest, smirking as he did so.

"Beg, now that's an idea," he purred.

Tarn scowled,

"I told you, I'm not begging."

Pharma continued to smirk,

"Not even for this," his hand slid down to cup Tarn's crotch and he stood on tiptoe to murmur in his ear, "I'll let you fuck me hard and rough. But only if you ask nicely."

Instead of complying Tarn pushed him up against the door frame,

"Perhaps I'd be persuaded," he whispered, large hands grasping Pharma's body, "If you weren't so desperate for it yourself."

"Not as desperate as you," Pharma countered, fully aware of Tarn hardening underneath the palm of his hand.

"Enough silly games," Tarn growled and Pharma savored his impatience, "Or do you want me to take you out here in plain view of your neighbors?"

Touché, Pharma thought. But at least he knew that Tarn was desperate for him.

"I suppose we should take this inside."

Tarn fairly barreled him through the doorway, one long arm reaching behind them to slam the door shut.

The music teacher didn't end up begging. But he gave Pharma what he wanted, hard, rough possessive fucking burgeoning into sweet release. Afterwards Pharma lay on the bed next to Tarn's massive heaving form, sated and smug.

"Why are you smiling?" Pharma glanced to see Tarn staring at him, "I mean, besides the obvious."

Pharma shrugged,

"No reason."

Other than being reassured in the fact he was still highly desirable. At least to one biker-looking teacher. It wasn't much validation but after series of gentle rejection from Ratchet, Pharma took what he could get.

Tarn didn't press his query. He started to hum along with the strains of _Ganymed_.

Pharma closed his eyes, listening. Tarn almost sounded beautiful when he hummed. Too bad the rest of him was so unconventional.

Not unconventional enough not to attract admirers however.

"So how's Soundrave?" Pharma found himself asking.

Tarn's hum ended abruptly.

"Soundwave," he corrected, "Do you really want to talk about him?"

Pharma shrugged,

"He is my competition after all."

Tarn propped himself up on his elbows, expression reproachful.

"No he isn't," he stressed each syllable before sighing, "If you must know, he avoids me like the plague."

Pharma wasn't exactly surprised. When Soundwave had woken the next day, Pharma had informed him rather acidly what had transpired between him and Tarn. Soundwave had been terribly embarrassed and apologetic. Not that it had endeared him much to Pharma, who had ordered him out of his apartment now he was no longer in danger of choking on his own vomit.

Still Tarn's words brought him a great deal of satisfaction.

"Lay back down," he told Tarn, "If it makes you so uncomfortable, we'll talk about something else."

Pharma started with the clinic. Namely the fact Ratchet had thought it was a good idea to hire an ex-junkie as a janitor. That bled into Pharma's frustration that a good deal of his patients were addicts. That a majority of the other people he treated were the scum of society. That he didn't feel he was making a difference. The fact that he received little to no recognition for his work while other graduates in his class had high-paying jobs. And looked down on him.

Tarn listened, not interrupting, making it rather easy for Pharma to carry on until everything was off his chest.

But he avoided discussing Ratchet. He knew better than to discuss Ratchet.

"It's just so frustrating," he said in summary, "I'll end up with grey hair and wrinkles and nothing else to show for it."

"You wouldn't look half bad with a streak of grey hair," Tarn hummed, thick fingers working through Pharma's sweat-matted red locks, "Though you'd have far less wrinkles if you scowled less. See you're doing it right now."

"I can't help it," Pharma glowered, "I come to you with my problems and all you can do is make fun."

Tarn sighed,

"Why don't you look for another clinic if you're so unhappy?"

Pharma thought of Tyrest. His offer. He didn't see any reason not to tell Tarn, after all he had just suggested finding alternative employment.

"I've been offered the head surgeon's job at the Nominus Memorial Hospital."

Tarn's fingers stopped stroking his head.

"In Iacon?"

"Yes."

Tarn was silent a moment.

"That's quite a grand position," he said finally, softly, "You would have to move to Iacon?"

Pharma shrugged,

"I could commute. But I don't see the point. With that kind of salary I could buy an apartment five times more impressive than this dump."

He found himself smiling at the idea.

"It sounds like you've already made up your mind," Tarn observed.

"I suppose I have," Pharma said honestly.

Tarn's hand withdrew from his hair and the large man shifted towards the edge of the bed. Pharma frowned as he bent to retrieve his shirt.

"What's wrong?"

"You," Tarn didn't even deign to look at him as he spoke, "Pharma, you're so selfish."

"No I'm not," Pharma said automatically.

"Oh no?" Tarn whirled around to glare at him, "You ordered me here, got me to fuck you, whined about your problems and now you're telling me you're moving away. That is the very definition of selfish."

Pharma gaped at him,

"At least I didn't kiss somebody else," he retorted.

Tarn leaned towards him with slight menace,

"Pharma, that has nothing to do with this and you know it."

He turned back around and continued buttoning his shirt. After a moment his shoulders slumped in a sigh.

"I'm actually relieved."

The words took Pharma by surprise.

"What do you mean?"

Tarn looked back, expression sad,

"Things were never going to work out between us. In spite of that I still want you. My addictive personality I suppose, getting in the way of me seeing sense. So you moving away, I think it's the best way to end it."

The words twisted like a knife in Pharma's stomach. Tarn was just like Ratchet, neither were prepared to fight for him.

Pharma lay there frozen in his own bubble of isolation.

He could have begged Tarn to stay.

Instead he stuck out his chin defiantly,

"Perhaps you're right."

It was better for him to allow Tarn to cut ties. He would start a new life in Iacon, a better life. He would find other people, better people to adore him.

He didn't need Tarn. He didn't need Ratchet.

Tarn nodded once before he resumed dressing. Pharma rolled on his side, trying to ignore his actions and the thundering of his own heartbeat.

Finally Tarn addressed him,

"I'm leaving now," his voice was unbearably awkward.

Pharma glanced at him. That mutilated face with it's sorrowful expression.

"Goodbye," he forced out.

He buried his face in his pillow, listening to the sound of Tarn's departing footsteps, listening to the sound of the strains of 'Che farò senza Euridice'.

How fucking appropriate.

Pharma couldn't remember the last time he cried. But he cried then.

Afterwards he dragged himself out of bed for a scalding hot shower. The discomfort seemed to rejuvenate him, all traces of Tarn scrubbed away, leaving him a new being.

Draped in a towel, he rummaged in his wallet for Tyrest's business card.

"Chief Justice Tyrest's office, Star Saber speaking."

A male secretary. Maybe Tyrest was a closet case.

"This Pharma," he told Star Saber, "Tyrest is expecting my call. Patch me through."

There was a grumble from Star Saber before he placed Pharma on hold. Orchestral religious music. Pharma grimaced.

Suddenly the music cut off and Tyrest's voice rose from the other end,

"Ah Pharma, seen the light have you?"

Pharma had, but not in the religious sense.

"Yes I have," he answered. "I'm in."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow that was heavy :( Don't worry too much Tarn/Pharma fans. This isn't the last we'll see of them.


End file.
